


Austere

by goddity



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: M/M, Self-Hatred, a slurry of sorrow and misery, abandonment issues and separation anxiety, drunken emotional confession, rung teaches a big mech about self worth, rung visits the booze doctor, rung's implied war crimes, watch me project my emotions onto a small orange robot, whirl teaches a small mech to love himself, whirl's canonical war crimes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-01
Updated: 2016-06-05
Packaged: 2018-07-11 12:16:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7050607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goddity/pseuds/goddity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rung finds himself feeling lower than usual, and seeks comfort from the only mech he can trust to provide it - even if Whirl doesn't think he can.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> aus·tere  
> (of living conditions or a way of life) having no comforts or luxuries; harsh or ascetic  
> having an extremely plain and simple style or appearance; unadorned.

Mechs aboard the Lost Light had very specific standards set for a mech like Rung - be consistent, be present when needed, and absent when you're not. Rung had grown used to being cast aside when the company of others was available and generally forgotten when it came to invitations. 

Ending up at Swerve's was a common but comfortable occurrence that usually resulted with Rung at a single table, sitting alone and quietly listening to the various conversations that filled the bar. He was never purposefully eavesdropping, but it was hard for a mech not to hear in a room full of sound. Rung heard conversations that he was certain he was never meant to hear and never brought up with his patients if they didn't bring them up first, as easily forgotten among the crowded tables as he had always been. 

In his youth, he'd considered taking on a more active role in the war and becoming an informant, knowing how easily he was overlooked in a throng of eager bots enjoying a night out. Rung remembered things he'd heard centuries before, confessions of affection, plans for battle, excuses for tardiness, everything he could imagine. Drift had once remarked about his ability to remember things, but Rung had a flicker of doubt that the swordmech remembered it. 

_"You've seen so much, Rung. It's amazing how much you remember."_

_"It's best that someone remembers, Drift. If I don't, it's possible that no one would."_

Rung had gotten very used to being forgotten. Forgetting his name, forgetting his face, it was part of his experience as a sentient being. Not even Swerve kept his order straight, which was the same whenever he came into the bar to enjoy a small glass of engex. 

He kept his field close to his frame, hands gently caressing the sides of his glass while he made an effort to enjoy his own company.

Psychology was difficult to apply to oneself, which was viewed as dramatically unprofessional and inaccurate, but Rung always toyed with the idea of confronting what he believed to be his depression. Being alone could be a relief given that solitude was wanted, but Rung often found himself longing for the company of a mech who listened to him as well as he listened to the mechs around him. 

He wasn't ungrateful that his patients and friends trusted him with so much information about their lives or asked him for help, it was part of his job, it helped them. Helping others was important, he knew. 

But staring into the glass, partially at his drink and partially at his own reflection, Rung questioned why other mechs so rarely helped him. For a while, Rung had concluded that it must have been their fear of compromising a professional relationship; it'd be easy to imagine that a bot might think that he wouldn't keep conversations private if it wasn't in his office. Then he thought it might have continued to go back to his alt mode; despite how long it had been, there was a lot of prejudice about alt modes still. A few 'alt mode parties' had convinced him that the crew might have believed it to be his most interesting feature. Over time, Rung had resigned to the idea that maybe he just wasn't all that likable. He was approachable enough that many of the mechs on board visited him with little objection, though not approachable enough to want as a friend. 

His servos traced the edge of the glass as he thought about it. 

Rung had always thought of his crew mates as friends but found that so many of them knew so little about him that it was unfair to think that they could like him as much as he liked most of them. Oftentimes he thought of if they would still like him if they knew about where he'd been during the war - the things he'd seen and said, the things he truly kept secret - but he imagined they weren't things that he'd talk about.

In truth, what Rung wanted was to just talk to someone for a little while; to just feel a little less lonely. He couldn't remember the last time he hadn't felt lonely. 

Having company, be it as a doctor or as an occasional go-along off planet, was different. Not for all mechs, but for Rung. Going to a party and having the host not only forget they invited you but forget your name was a sure-fire way to ensure that an evening was hard to enjoy. Seeking out company wasn't any easier - whenever a mech was approached by Rung they assumed it was to remind them they missed a session, or hadn't scheduled one in a while, or that he was worried about them. 

Rung bitterly wished that they would, maybe once, be concerned enough for him to say something, and not just after he was grievously injured. 

The ache in his spark was lightened with another sip of his drink. The doctor had never _liked_ the idea of drinking away his emotions. It was a dangerous and reckless solution that perpetuated itself. A bit of drinking mad the night better and the morning worse, as far as he was concerned.

The orange mech didn't remember finishing his drink but cashed out and left with a polite 'thank you' to Swerve and a tip that was a bit more generous than usual. 

His pedes moved him thoughtlessly and deposited him in front of a hab-suite that was not his own. He sent an involuntary commlink before he could ask himself if it was wise. The heat of his drink rushed through his frame and he wanted someone to talk to. More accurately, he wanted to talk to someone who could empathize with feeling so lonely, someone who could remember Rung and remember him well. 

Whirl's field rippled with surprise, confusion and concern when the door opened. 

"Doc? What're you doing here?" His tone implied what Rung knew it would have, the classic 'did i miss another session?' attitude that Whirl tended to use when he knew that he very well avoided a session because he simply didn't want to talk that day.

"I'd like to talk, Whirl." Rung held up his hands before he could interject. "Mech to mech."

Whirl's optic narrowed suspiciously, which Rung also expected. The two had steadily been working through trust exercises, but the last trust-fall attempt had resulted in Whirl shifting into his alt mode and destroying a small table that Rung confessed he'd been considering replacing anyway, since it had been too low to the ground for most mechs' liking anyway. 

The larger mech vented, answering skeptically before stepping aside to let Rung in. 

Rung extended his field to better reach Whirl, filling it with gratitude and doing a poor job of masking his loneliness. 

The door clicked shut the Rung's optics adjusted to a living space he hadn't expected of Whirl. 

The walls featured a few holes, obviously from Whirl's tantrums, soft white pockmarks in walls he was surprised to see had been painted yellow. Whirl had once told Rung that he thought yellow was a happy color, like a warm sun, like his old face. The doctor had always thought it poignant that Whirl told him that. Between the holes, Whirl had actually decided to personalize his space with small postcards from various planets they'd stopped on and even carried a few from Cybertronian cities he had visited before they left. Most of the decor manifested on one wall, but Rung took note of a soft ticking, glimpsing a decorative and well detailed clock on one wall of the room. His spark ached in knowing Whirl had made it, there was no question.

"Alright, Doc." Whirl said, crossing beside the smaller mech to take a seat on his berth. There were no chairs to speak of. "You got your little looky-loo and have a masterful look into my psyche." 

"That's..." Rung couldn't deny that he couldn't forget the plentiful information their few seconds had given him. "That's not what this is about, Whirl." 

Whirl, surprisingly, extended his field. He wouldn't admit it, but of the people on the ship Whirl trusted, Rung was nearly one of them. He liked Rung. Rung was a mech who carried a little too much on his shoulders, more than such a small mech should carry. 

"Well then, spill it. If this isn't a session, I'm going to have to assume you're gathering intel or here to ask me to kill someone for you. If that's the case, I just have to tell you that I'm honored that you came to me first and trust me to do the job."

Rung smiled, thankful that Swerve had over-poured a bit tonight.

"No, it's... Not that either, Whirl. I just want to talk."

A claw clanked against his berth as Whirl patted the space beside him - a characteristic mixture of ominous and inviting. As Rung sat, the claw clamped onto his opposite shoulder, a bit roughly but not painfully, Whirl's attempts to intimidate him just falling short.

"Now, tell ol' Whirlybird what the problem is."

"I'm... I'm lonely, Whirl."

Whirl retracted his field with a speed Rung had only seen a few times before. Rung didn't lift his eyes to look at the bigger mech, coming to terms with his own words as he spoke them.

Knowing he'd remember them, Rung had rehearsed this conversation hundreds of times. Every time, he'd imagined it'd be said to Whirl. Other mechs might not have trusted Whirl, scrap, half of the crew couldn't stand him, but Rung... Rung felt a soft tug at his spark when he thought of his friend. He _thought_ of Whirl as his friend. Whirl had told him in the past that he wasn't sure that he had any friends.

But Rung knew about things Whirl had seen; things that Whirl had done, things that Whirl said, this Rung had only been told because Whirl knew he was legally bound to keep them quiet from other bots. Rung knew enough that if Whirl was the one who found out about the things he kept secret, that Whirl would be someone who would ignore them. He didn't know that Whirl would forgive him but he knew Whirl wouldn't resent him. 

"Well, uh, Rung, that's a sure interesting feeling you've got there," Whirl made an effort to mask his obvious discomfort with Rung's proclamation. "But I'm sure you've got some pals who can help you out."

Rung found himself threading his servos together, staring down at the thin joints and focusing on the light grip of the 'coptor's claw as he spoke. 

"Whirl, you're only pal I've got." Rung looked up, mouth open again before Whirl could object. "Not that I think the others would deny me company, but I feel as though you're the one who would most appreciate it and listen to me. Right now, all I need is someone to listen to me."

The ache in his spark grew when Whirl released his shoulder and stood up. Rung had felt certain that Whirl would let him stay, to hear him out for just a few minutes despite that he'd had a bit to drink, but he watched as the mech crossed the room and dug through a small compartment in the wall Rung had overlooked the first time. From the space, Whirl produced a rather flimsy looking chair and unfolded it across from the berth, sitting and parodying Rung's stance as he sat. 

"Well, not the session I expected today, Doc." Whirl even went so far as to push his knees together, claws gently hanging over his legs as he stared him down with a singular optic. 

Rung couldn't help but chuckle, taking a moment to make himself more comfortable. He vented softly, relieved that Whirl was letting him stay.

"Thank you for entertaining the notion, Whirl."

"Yeah, yeah, let's start with that terrible trauma before the war. Wait, I'm being too direct, I've got to make you think talking about the war was your idea."

With a soft smile, Rung shifted, finding it odd to mimic Whirl's posture, despite that Whirl was mimicking him in the first place.

"Actually, Whirl, I'd just like to talk about my feelings this time around." His intake felt constricted. Talking about other people's feelings came easily but it appeared his own came harder. It had felt easy to tell Whirl that he was lonely. 

"Go on then." While encouraging, it was clear that Whirl was hoping to hear something juicy or scandalous. Rung couldn't fault him for that. 

"I've... been unhappy for a long time, Whirl." Rung started softly, optics falling to his hands as he wove his servos back together. Already he mourned the weight of Whirl's claw. Whirl waited patiently, silently. He reset his vocalizer twice. "I feel as though... at times, I blend in so well that no one notices that I'm alive. I've had patients forget me and friends forget my name."

"How the slag did you end up here?" Actual concern crept into Whirl's field. Rung was flattered to see the other mech cared, or cared enough to project concern.

"I'm not sure. I... I can't deny that I pour myself into my work. I like helping people, Whirl. I put all of myself into helping others. I'd give my spark to keep another's lit, I just-"

"I get it." Whirl said, the soft _click_ of his claw silencing the smaller mech. "You burn yourself out on everyone else and you don't have the energy to keep running on your own. It's like you're a battery - you extend your energy to others and it leaves you empty."

Rung sat, mouth agape, surprised that Whirl not only grasped his feelings so easily, but articulated them.

"I... Yes," he confessed, exhausted but thankful and ecstatic at the simple revelation. "Yes!"

"Well, if you want _my_ advice Doc, I say go in guns blazin' until you feel better."

Rung's eyes fell on a pockmark on the other wall, knowing all too well how often Whirl went into situation 'guns blazin'' and ending up in his office shortly thereafter. 

"Whirl," Rung said softly, taking off his glasses to truly look the mech he called 'friend' in the eyes. Whirl's optic cycled before focusing in on his face, Rung could tell. It was a rare occasion that he removed them.

"I don't want to be alone anymore. And if I'm being honest, mech to mech, I don't think you want to be alone either." Rung struggled but maintained eye contact. No wonder the crew had been so reluctant to come to him at times - self expression didn't come easy for everyone. "And... I'd like to ask you to... to not-be-alone, with me."

"Like a date? Why, Rung, I never knew~!" Whirl teased. Rung lightly dug his denta into his lip, it didn't _have_ to be a date but he'd given consideration to the concept of a romantic partner and how it might fulfill him and, in truth, how such a relationship could fulfill Whirl. 

He was close enough to touch. Rung knew that generally it would have been a bad decision given Whirl's background, but he reached out a delicate hand and gently curled his servos around the arch of a claw. Whirl's optic immediately shot down to the contact. He didn't tense, but focused on the small servos that had found perch against his frame.

His glossa was heavy.

"I... I wanted to ask you, specifically, Whirl." With a rough intake, Rung lowered his helm. Usually he was noted for his eloquence in conversation, when conversations with him were remembered. The claw that had escaped his grip took a gentle hold of his shoulder, just as it had when Whirl had sat beside him. Rung had never known Whirl to be so patient. His optics stung with cleansing fluids. 

"You don't make me feel lonesome, Whirl." Rung reset his vocalizer again. Whirl's optic smiled when he looked up at him.

"Eh, you're pretty alright yourself, Rung." Whirl started to withdraw the claw Rung held. "But, uh, not a good choice. I'm not a good choice. I'm not....." The claw clicked beside the mech's head as he searched for the word. " _Stable,_ I think was what we were going for." 

Rung's intake bobbed. He knew that unloading his feelings, those secrets he'd kept locked away for millennia, he knew that it'd all be too much. 

"We're... We're friends, aren't we Whirl?" Rung asked softly, unable to restrain the fear in his field. The claw's touch returned, this time in a surprisingly tender swipe to Rung's faceplate, wiping away the cleansing fluid that had steadily been escaping his optics. 

Whirl was hesitant. Rung knew that Whirl had a very, very, very, _very_ short list of mechs he trusted. Being tricked and manipulated and set up did that to a mech. Rung kept too many secrets, he knew. He knew it wasn't fair to ask Whirl if they were friends. Bitterly, Rung admitted to himself that Whirl would say 'yes' if it meant sparing Rung's feelings. 

His answer wasn't what Rung had hoped.

"You deserve better friends than me." Whirl said matter-of-factly. There was an underlying bitterness that Rung had come to recognize over numerous sessions. "I don't deserve that, Rung."

With a sharp intake, Rung dissuaded another release of cleansing fluid, trying to keep his medical instinct at bay when the conversation was in truth personal. 

"Whirl..." Rung heard the soft flare of his fans when his hand fell to rest on Whirl's leg. 

It wasn't the first time that Rung had pushed their relationship, jeopardizing their professionalism. Whirl's self-deprecation was usually enough that Rung felt he should help Whirl work on loving himself before loving someone else, but Rung wouldn't redirect the conversation. Not tonight. Not when they spoke as friends.

"Whirl, you _do_ deserve it." Rung reassured gently. "I know you don't believe that when I say it, no matter how many times I say it, but believe me now. There's no datapad with your file, there's no scheduled appointment..." Rung waited until Whirl's optic locked with his own. "You deserve to be happy, Whirl."

He took the tender claw between his servos, gently holding Whirl in place to sustain the contact. The larger mech made no attempt to move away, venting softly.

"You deserve better than me." Whirl repeated, the words too rehearsed to have been heard only been heard by Rung. 

"You think you'd be bad for me," Rung corrected gently. It was difficult to turn off medical instincts but he tread carefully - if Whirl felt their conversation was becoming a session, he could easily shut down and tell Rung to leave. And if he told Rung to leave, Rung would, regardless of how badly he longer for company. "You don't think you're good enough..."

Whirl didn't say anything, not even when Rung's delicate hands cupped either side of his helm, thumbs tracing small circles. 

"Whirl," The old mech spoke softly. "You're more than enough."

 

_"Of course you have friends, Whirl."_

_"Doc, The Wreckers isn't a group of friends. It's more like an applicable skill for a resume."_

_"Whirl, I'm you're friend."_


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rung and Whirl have a spark-to-spark.

To say that the ex-Wrecker wasn't surprised would have been a gross understatement. Through having his head shot off, being used as bait, and being systematically forgotten, Rung had always appeared to have his helm screwed on tight enough that none of it got under his plating. 

Apparently it'd be unfair to think that. 

Whirl had never been one to keep many secrets about his past, or at least he'd been known to unceremoniously blurt out things about himself. At one point he would have argued that it was in hopes of explaining his behaviors but it had slowly turned into a warning of what he was capable of. 

Despite all the warnings, the accidents, the on-purposes, the energon spilled, the terrible things Rung _knew_ he had done and the things Rung might have believed he'd done... Rung was sitting in front of him, on the edge of his berth, small orange hands on either side of his helm while cleansing fluid still wet on his face. 

Of the mechs onboard, Rung wasn't someone Whirl wanted to see in pain. Of the mechs on board, Whirl tended to believe that Rung deserved pain the very least. Rung had put up with more than his fair share of bullshit parades. 

And whenever things got worse, whenever things seemed like they were more than the little mech could handle, he always found that Rung went to him. Things had never been this bad, and he always thought that maybe it was because Rung felt like things would go from bad to worse and a patient would turn on him.

Whirl had no reservations about protecting Rung, if it was asked of him, but didn't understand what exactly would make Rung feel safe around him when he had once overheard that Whirl's door was one of the only ones the locks could be overridden.

As far as reservations went, Whirl had very few reservations about _most_ things. One of the things he _did_ happen to have reservations about was pursuing any sort of... "unprofessional" relationship with Rung. 

It wasn't that Rung wasn't an interesting mech, or a decent candidate as far as a berth mate went, but Rung was more than Whirl could handle. Whirl could hardly handle himself, if numerous criminal files were to be believed. Realistically, he believed them a bit. Rung had always been gentle in the way he spoke to his friend, more gentle and careful than most, as though every word was rehearsed and planned to be the ideal structure Whirl would want to hear. 

Whirl had a certain amount of envy for a mech who could carry out such a complicated plan that required essentially no firepower.

"Rung," He began softly, trying to keep his optic on the small mech. Rung was so forgiving, _always_ so forgiving, too forgiving of someone like Whirl. How could Rung possibly think he was enough? 

"You deserve a... kinder mech. A fuller mech. A better mech than you." Whirl didn't need to cycle his vocalizer; he'd said these words to other mechs, he'd said these words more often than he said 'sorry,' - which in fairness, wasn't all that much.

Rung shook his head, optics shuttering: a detail that would have been lost if he still had them hidden behind his glasses. 

"I-I don't _want_ that." Rung's voice stung with static. It was surprisingly to see him so shaken. Whirl let the tip of his glaw trace along his friend's cheek, putting aside his violent coping strategies. The moment Rung left, as he always did, another crater would find it's way into the wall as Whirl found his way into another recharge. 

"I want _you_." He clarified - something that he made a point of often telling patients was important to do. Using your words was often the best way to convey your needs or problems, so the doctor often said. Whirl had to admit that he was impressed by the orange bot's conviction; typically, Rung had no issues with being told something once and laying off, but maybe a heavy-handed engex was what he needed to losing a bit of professionalism and focus on his own needs. 

Curse those expressive eyebrows and how difficult they made it for Whirl to deny him.

"Doc, it's a bad idea." Whirl tried a different approach. Sure, he was a loose canon and tended to shoot first and ask questions never, but he wasn't dumb. "On top of how I put the _wreck_ in Wrecker, I'm not worth that risk."

For a moment, Rung hesitated. They both knew what kind of things could happen if word got around the ship - and word would get around the ship, it was a finite space - that Rung was pursuing a relationship with a patient, and not just any patient, _Whirl_. Rung could lose his practice, which could have been negliable if he didn't have entire theories and analysis methods named after him and wasn't the only psychiatrist on board the Lost Light. On top of the fact that it would ruin his reputation. Even if there was a way for Rung to regain the respect of the medical community, regaining the trust of his patients was something entirely different. Trust was a difficult thing. 

Though, Whirl found it easier to trust Rung. Then again, it was hard _not_ to trust someone who spent their time trying to understand rather than trying to judge someone. Especially someone like Whirl. 

Characteristically, Rung made his usual argument that Whirl had to put faith in himself, or some scrap like that. Whirl had heard the words over and over again in private sessions and knew Rung's spiel almost as well as he knew his own. He might have trusted the orange mech but it was hard to trust that he meant those words. Even though Rung meant every well-measured word that he said. It was hard trusting that someone meant it. Really meant it. 

While Rung half-lectured/half-reassured Whirl of his worth, the ex-Wrecker's optic drifted to the soft blue glow from Rung's spark, twinkling and blossoming under his casing. It was vain to be a mech who had enough confidence to show their spark instead of protecting it behind armor or proper plating, but Rung had his reasons. 

In his absentmindedness, he wasn't sure _when_ he had placed a claw on the glass and obstructed the glow, but he had. And it had done a wonderful job of shutting Rung up.

"...Whirl?" Rung's hand was back on the claw, too comfortable with touching someone he should have viewed as dangerous. 

Light danced in the space between them, the soft blue glow filling Whirl with the sort of feelings he usually got when he got to shove a gun through someone's chassis before pulling the trigger. Rung had that effect on people, it seemed. 

"Rung," Whirl started, noticing the soft glimmer in the smaller mech's optics at the proper use of his name. "You gotta know this is a bad idea. You're smart. Not smart enough to stop slaggin' coming here in the middle of the night, but smart."

His spark ached seeing the soft coloration in Rung's faceplates at the compliment. Well, pseudo-compliment. He _did_ say Rung was smart, that part was a compliment. 

"And I'm tired of talking about all this." The glimmer vanished as quickly as it came. Rung donned his glasses and started to stand until the claw against his casing pushed him back onto the berth. "So we're not talking about it anymore. I'm talking, and this time you get to listen and you don't get to tell me some mental science stuff afterwards and try to make me think what you want me to think."

Rung nodded understandingly, eager as ever to listen.

"You're gonna stay here tonight, but you're not coming back tomorrow because you went to Swerve's and had a little too much again-" Rung's faceplates glowed but he nodded. "-or because you think that being here is gonna solve any problems. You're lonely. We're all lonely. Cosmically-" Whirl gestured with his unoccupied claw. "We're all lonely."

Rung pursed his lips, knowing that he'd agreed not to talk. It pained him to have to confront that in truth the crew was lonely, despite all of them being together constantly, but most of the mechs who came on board functioned in cliques and hadn't made much effort to abandon them. 

"But it's not an excuse to run around acting like some newbuild, right? I've lost a lot, Rung," The statement almost fell out of Whirl, Rung noticed that he shrunk back a little after saying it, as if he hadn't meant to. "And you're only gonna lose things if you try to keep pressing this thing."

Another nod.

"So stay tonight, not a dang word about it tomorrow, or the next day. No more heavy drinking at Swerve's, no more late night comms when you've forgotten your own name." 

Rung shifted in his seat, unsure of how to feel that Whirl remembered such things and remembered them well enough to keep bringing them up. Rung didn't think Whirl had such a good memory; usually, Whirl boasted that he'd sustained enough head injuries that he didn't have to worry about living with regret because he forgot things almost immediately after doing them. 

"But you can stay." The larger mech reiterated. "Just this once."

Without much of another word, Rung watched Whirl perform his nightly pre-recharge rituals: triple checking his locks, setting his clock, and testing the lights before opting to leave the light closest to the door on to better see an intruder. Rung was fascinated that Whirl had never mentioned these rituals but mentally took note to mention it during a session if it could be broached casually. 

Whirl took the inside wall, knowing that it was likely that Rung would finish his charge first and be off to work before the helicopter even cared to open his optic. Rung said nothing when he heard the occasional sound of Whirl's frame scraping against the wall, knowing that there wasn't _really_ enough room for both of them.

Silence was an unwelcome companion while the two mechs laid side by side on the berth, occasionally brushing frames but saying nothing. Rung had stored his glasses away in his subspace, his field of vision ending just past Whirl. He was making a conscious effort not to look at the other mech since he was certain that he was pushing his luck already by being welcomed to stay.

Quiet was something Rung had become used to over the years; he'd hosted numerous sessions where patients had nothing to say or were more comfortable with saying nothing than talking about their feelings. The doctor folded his servos together, content to stare at the ceiling while being a little less content with the silence. 

Whirl was a mech who often had a lot to say. Granted, not all of it was entirely truthful or positive, but if Whirl had _nothing_ to say, it was worse than having bad things to say. Rung had the very real concern that the negative things Whirl currently had to say might have been about him. But he wouldn't have allowed him to stay if there was really a problem, was there?

"Whirl?" Rung asked softly, knowing that Whirl hadn't truthfully entered recharge. "Could I trouble you with another question? As always you know you-"

"Don't have to answer, lay it on me doc." Whirl grumbled, sounded a bit exasperated. Rung couldn't blame him, he'd really put him out for all this. 

"Whirl, are you.... are you happy?" The words hung in the air for what felt like the length of a new Cybertronian war before Rung thought following it up might have been a wise decision. "Happy... Happy with _now_. I know life's repeatedly dealt you bad hands, and that so much has happened..."

"No." Whirl said tersely, taking a moment to examine his claw. "No, doc, I ain't all that happy. Don't get me wrong, like any mech I find happiness in things - killing, fighting, brawling, drinking, scheming, the usual - but it doesn't mean 'round the clock joy." 

For a few minutes they sat in silence before Whirl made a decision of his own regarding the question.

"What about you, doc?" Whirl tilted his helm to look at the smaller mech who squinted a little to bring him into focus. "You happy?"

Rung hesitated. Rung hesitated for longer than Whirl would have expected. It was an incredibly rare occasion when people asked Rung about his well-being, and rarer still when Rung felt like being honest about it. It wasn't that he approved of lying about it, but more often than not he thought it would be better not to concern others with his own problems. 

"No, Whirl." Rung admitted softly. "I don't think I am. But I'm happy you asked."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey y'all, thanks for putting up with this fic i guess?  
> honestly most all of this is incredibly self-indulgent so if u think any of the writing for whirl is a gross mischaracterization #sorry


	3. Chapter 3

Hearing the doctor admit to his own sorrow wasn't as satisfying as Whirl had hoped. Sure, it was nice to see him out of his element and there was a certain satisfaction with seeing him at less than his best, knowing he was as good as he was, but... 

Rung's pain wasn't satisfying. 

The small mech still had his optics towards the ceiling, content to keep his promise and stay quiet if Whirl wasn't interested in talking. Whirl racked his brain, digging around for what could have possibly been wired to make him actively dislike the doctor's pain, but little came up. 

Rung spoke quietly, knowing that Whirl was in thought, hopeful that it might have been enough to change the subject. Deference was generally an effective technique with Whirl, especially when used at the right moment. 

"Perhaps I can suggest to Rodimus that we move you to a larger hab-suite. Something with a window?"

The gentle suggestion was more confusing than Rung had hoped, instead sending Whirl into a confusing spiral of considering if a larger hab-suite was something that would have made Rung happy or increased his quality of life. 

"Wanna talk about it?" The larger mech asked, shifting onto his side and leisurely resting his helm on his claw. 

"This is... morally abhorrent." Rung mumbled, rubbing the bridge of his nose as his sobering thoughts began trickling back to life. "I shouldn't be here."

"I tried tell you that," Whirl taunted. "I can always throw you out if you like, I bet you'd bounce most of the way down the corridor, at least three hops."

Rung ignored Whirl's descriptive suggestion, writing it off as one of his better attempts at verbal affection. 

"Come on, Doc. It's not like we're 'facing here. Just two lonely mechs trying to not be so lonely until morning comes and we act as though none of these conversations ever existed."

_The Fateful Archetype_.

How many times had Rung pretended those conversations didn't exist? But they had. They had existed, and now Rung sat on the berth of one of his patients, repressing the desire to make just one more mistake, just let go and be his own mech for once instead of being a catalyst for healing. To let go, and just once, try to heal himself. 

"I shouldn't be here." Rung repeated softly. 

"Yeah, Doc-"

"No, Whirl," Rung said a bit more firmly. "I shouldn't be here. It's only by sheer dumb luck that I've had the chance to even make it this far..."

Whirl groaned, letting his claw drop before dramatically dropping his head back onto the berth. Spark-to-sparks weren't his specialty unless weapons were involved, and it was difficult to express exactly _what_ he was feeling to Rung.

Rung wasn't finding it any easier.

What was he supposed to do? Living on a ship of only his patients made it impossible to form any sort of inter-personal bonds. _Not_ having those bonds and relationships wasn't healthy, even if engaging in them was dangerous. Rung didn't think he could stand the loneliness anymore; the commlinks to himself, leaving messages of his own thoughts to remember later, the table for one at Swerve's while he listened to tables of mechs rejoice and toast to their good health or friendships or friends home on Cybertron, the ache in his spark knowing that people would talk to him only when they needed help and came for an appointment... 

Every thought dissipated when Rung felt his frame scrape against the berth as Whirl pulled him against his chassis, holding them close enough that Rung could feel the gentle warmth of him venting. Rung could see the glow of his own spark dancing against Whirl's deep navy paint, only breaking his eyes from to look up at the ex-Wrecker. 

Whirl gently pressed the bottom of his helm to the top of Rung's, holding him in place, with a delicacy that Rung had never imagined he had, gently wrapping him in his field. It was soft and warm - understand and kind and welcoming, words Rung was thrilled to associate with Whirl, and not just as his doctor. Rung let his temples meet Whirl's chest, satisfied to just be held for a moment.

"Doc," Whirl grumbled. "Take it easy. Your field was sharp enough to puncture a hole in the ship." Whirl's claw teased the tip of Rung's antennae. 

Whirl followed up with a statement so shocking that Rung was prepared to completely rework his file in the morning.

"I ain't tryin' to invalidate you." 

"Whirl-!" Rung began, shut up with a soft click when Whirl protested. 

"I know you gotta deal with this in the morning. I know you've got a lot to deal with in the morning. I know this ain't easy, just lettin' yourself lay here and pretending that this is okay. But you know, of all the things mechs have done on this ship, there have been some slagging terrible things, and I say this as someone responsible for about sixty percent of them. Just let yourself enjoy this. Doesn't happen again. Just let yourself enjoy something Rung."

Rung shuttered his optics, relaxing a little. The last thing he heard before entering recharge was a soft, solemn statement from Whirl, a soft simple phrase that would get filed away with the things Rung promised himself he wouldn't forget.

_"Just this once."_


End file.
